


Heads Up

by HSavinien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Gen, Guns, Kissing, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Fury never lets his guard down. (Nick Fury's language nearly merits a teen rating.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads Up

Nicholas Fury never lets his guard down. He sleeps with his eye open. The Director can kill you before he knows you're there.

That's bullshit, of course it is. He's human, fallible, doing the best he can (doing a damn good job) to keep the world from blowing up on a regular basis and keeping the lives of as many people as possible reasonably safe from forces beyond their ken.

The Avengers are a part of that. He prods them, tricks them, bribes and blackmails them, railroads them into proving what they can do as a team. That isn't to say he dislikes them, though he considers wringing their collective and individual necks at times. Even Tony Stark, though irritating, is competent.

He does not, however, appreciate the latest in their "team bonding" exercises. "Team bonding" apparently translates in Avengers slang to "prank wars." The current incarnation thereof is both annoying and actually dangerous to his facilities, because the objective seems to be to sneak up on each other. With a sniper, an assassin, a part-time Hulk, a demigod, a supersoldier, and a paranoid mechanical genius on the team, there is significant chance that someone is going to get flattened, blown up, knifed, or otherwise maimed and that HQ is going to take collateral damage.

***

Nicholas Fury slides into his chair and rubs his forehead tiredly. The day has gone poorly. HR was being very pointed after the Avengers' third Public Relations officer had quit within two weeks and there had been an incident in Wyoming this afternoon that involved the flattened remains of an antique car show, courtesy of a giant robotic troop transport driven by a rabid-looking white supremacist and his gang of thugs. Fury had been more than a little gleeful about shitting on _that_ plan for country/world domination, but the insurance claims were going to be a nightmare. Captain Rogers had given a heartfelt but not entirely coherent speech about Justice and the American Way to a pretty reporter before Stark had corralled him and there was no way it wasn't all over every blog on the 'net by now. (Rule #17. Do NOT talk to the press before briefings. Yes, that includes you. ALL of you.)

An unfamiliar draft touches his face and the Glock is in Fury's hand, muzzle to Barton's temple, before the rest of him has a chance to respond.

"Hey, Director."

"Barton." He lowers the gun.

Hawkeye grins at him upside-down, hanging from his knees out of the panel he'd removed from the ceiling.

"I'm not playing this game and if it involves any other SHIELD personnel or happens again within SHIELD premises, I will have the person or people involved reassigned to Antarctica."

Barton rolls his eyes. "Killjoy."

"Get out of my office, Barton." Fury sighs, rolling his eye heavenward.

Barton salutes, plants a smacking kiss to the top of Fury's head and executes a perfect curl-up into the ceiling, just ahead of the slap Fury aims at him.


End file.
